


an unorthodox absolution. // book one, part one.

by salmonandsoup



Series: The Spectral Redeemers AU [1]
Category: Persona 4, Persona 5
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Villains to Heroes, as well as some violent shit but like. this is persona people, but at least you don't have CONTEXT, i hope you enjoy this even if the concept is weird as Fuck, p5bbcomplete, sorry for all the spoilers in the tags, there's gonna be some heavy petting but no Actual Sex, villain redemption arc, you understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 07:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18006566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salmonandsoup/pseuds/salmonandsoup
Summary: Kunikazu Okumura, in a stroke of equal parts renewed resolve and dumb luck, defies and fakes his own death.  A false identity means new possibilities; a new mask; a new persona, if you will.  In the process of redeeming himself, he jumpstarts the redemptions of several other blackened hearts journeying beside and intertwined with his own––and everyone comes to realize that evading their metaphorical execution means they must take the first step out of their cell and run.





	1. prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> it's finally here... holy fuck it's finally here. i've been working on this AU now for a year, two months, and two weeks. this is the beginning of the culmination of that. this will be book one, part one in a three two-part book series.
> 
> you're in for a lot of villains regaining and showing their humanity, disaster bis, one lesbian and one straight grandpa holding and using all brain cells of their whole group, and lots of crying. as is to be expected!
> 
> please enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage is set for two former members of a conspiracy to lay their truths bare in order to save their lives.

_It is regrettable._

_You have lost your way and let your light be swallowed up by darkness and distortion, have you not?  
_ _This game you are trapped in is unfair, unjust, and you filed your nails into claws and bared your fangs to stay afloat in the world that you live._

_The essence of what you did was not wrong.  Remember that feeling, remember what you hold most dear to you._   
_Remember what you dreams were before they splintered, before they morphed into_   
_nightmares you put upon countless innocent lives and upon yourself…_   
_I beg you, for the sake of the world, remember._

_REMEMBER, GET OUT, AND TAKE YOUR LIFE BACK._

 

_\--//--//--_

 

 **o. –– crossroads bar, shinjuku, february 5th, 2017.  
** _la lune rouge brille sur un accord.  
_ [ _(recommended mood music)_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GSY0ZtwD1M)

 

Crossroads Bar in Shinjuku is rarely ever a loud place at one-thirty in the morning, but the silence hanging over the establishment on this particular Sunday night feels so strong it could choke someone.  A lone cigarette held in thick fingers trails feeble smoke over the table and into the faint red lamplight from above. Three people sit at a booth, the bartender keeping a watchful eye over them while sitting and wiping off the last of the snifters and lowball glasses.  Two men and one woman stare each other down, two gazes uncomfortable and one icy.

“Thanks for joining me tonight at such a late hour, gentlemen; I’m sure you understand why I’m so eager to have you here,” the woman starts, her tone sardonic.  One of the men opens his mouth halfway, a witty retort ready to fire on instinct, but he holds his tongue and reclines, posture as stiff as it was when sitting ramrod straight.  The woman’s flint-colored eyes are stone-cold sober as she watches closely, a far cry from their usual glassiness at this time of night––which makes their glare all the more unnerving.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Her eyes fall on the man across from her on her left, who can only make eye contact for a moment before looking away like a child being scolded.  “You, Kunikazu Okumura, are not six feet under where you’re supposed to be, nor are you in jail, severe debt, or both––where you would be if you’d survived the mental shutdown that you suffered on August 7th.”

Her eyes move to the man on her right.  “And you, Junya Kaneshiro, were in jail for all of five fuckin’ minutes before _poof!_ you disappeared into the night and nobody’s been able to track you down since.  Except for me, which is why I’ve brought you two here to discuss matters appropriately.”

The two men take in her words.  Okumura pulls down the sleeves of his turtleneck, as he’s wont to do when nervous.  “That is all correct,” he says quietly, feeling the need to say something, _anything,_ as a response, something to give him and his comrade half a leg to stand on.  Kaneshiro takes a long, silent drag, more accustomed to hearing every piece of information before making his move.

The woman continues.  “Both of you have not only evaded the law, but you’ve started up some pretty shady shit underneath the table: assuming near-impeccable false identities, buying suspiciously realistic model weapons, carrying lockpicking tools on your person, talking with criminals on a regular basis––the list goes on, not counting what you’ve done in matters that are… _hard to describe_ , to say the least.  I’ve uncovered all of this and really should tell the public, y’know?  They deserve to know that two of Tokyo’s biggest scumbags have ducked out of the punishment that they so rightfully deserve, traipsing around in the shadows instead like the demons they are.” She pauses, drinks in their barely-stifled winces and grimaces of dread with the slightest satisfied curl of her lips.  She delights in this; she cannot wait to grill these motherfuckers until they’re indiscernible from charcoal.

When she’s had enough, she continues.  “But I’m gonna give you boys one shot to convince me, because I also know of someone doing similar shady shit for a righteous cause.  Give me good reason to keep my mouth shut, and I will,” she leans back in her chair, ultimatum made.

Okumura’s tongue scrapes against the dry roof of his mouth as he wills himself to keep his breathing steady.  Ichiko Ohya is not a force to be trifled with, but she isn’t outside the realm of reason; he counts himself and his associates quite lucky for that.  The livelihoods and safety of over a dozen people hang in the balance of satiating this dragon––not just any dozen, his teammates, his confidants, his lover, his _daughter_.  He steeples his hands, takes a moment to recall as many details of the last six months as he can.  He must tell her everything for there to be even a glimmer of hope.

His eyes dart over to Kaneshiro, and sees the man staring into the embers and drifting smoke of his cigarette.  Okumura knows him well enough at this point to see the gears turning, the scales balancing, the old mastermind plotting one last gambit.  A darkness clouds his eyes as his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly; he’s reached the same conclusion and he hates it, because for him, this is conceding defeat.  Kaneshiro meets Okumura’s eyes, and they only look at each other briefly before turning to Ohya again.

“How much time do you have?” Kaneshiro asks.

“A better question would be how much time _you_ have.  We can’t be here all night; Lala-chan’s gotta close up eventually and a good story can’t be bogged down with a bunch of unnecessary details.”

“Then why here?” Okumura wonders.  

“Because I trust no-one else in this world with this information.  If I have to have anyone here with their ears open even a crack, it’s gonna be her and her alone.”

Ohya grips her drink a little tighter.  “So here’s how we’re cutting it. You have an hour.  Tell me what I need to hear, answer any question I have, and you just might scrape past this by the skin of your teeth.  One white lie, one convenient under- or over-exaggeration, if I get even the _slightest_ sense that you’re bullshitting me in any way, shape, or form––you’re fucked six ways from Sunday.  So start from the beginning.”

“The beginning would most likely be August 1st,” Okumura says after a pause.  “That was the day the Phantom Thieves changed my heart, and the day nothing went as expected for any party involved.  It all starts with a shot to the chest.”

 


	2. un.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mammon makes snap decision after snap decision. Inadvertently, he changes his fate forever.

**i. –– okumura space station, august 1st, 2016.  
** __ donc, nous nous recommençons et commençons un nouveau jeu.  
_ \-- la première partie de deux. --  
_ [ __ (recommended mood music) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHzM19mJNDw)

 

This was both devastating and humiliating, Mammon bemoaned.  Left alone and abandoned after being beaten near-senseless, he bowed prostrate on the ground, tears sliding down his cheeks, the guilt of every foul decision he’d ever made in his life crashing down upon him like a tidal wave.   He was to fade away soon if left to his own devices, and the fight he put up was pitiful, hiding behind his workers instead of facing his own music. His daughter’s words echoed in his head, and he grit his teeth as they repeated themselves.

_ Only you can follow through on your responsibilities.  That is what you’ve taught me,  _ her somber voice repeated.

He slowly rose from bowing down to kneeling, shameful and defeated, but grimly accepting of his fate.  If he was going to go out, he might as well do it with some kind of dignity. He took a deep, somewhat shaky breath, but paused as his ears pricked up to catch the sound of something that troubled him deeply, something that sent an icicle of dread into his stomach, taking root with a chill racing down his spine.

A quiet whistle followed quieter footsteps, and suddenly a strange, tight pressure constricted his chest, blooming into horrendous pain and spurts of inky black leaking through the new hole in his breastplate.  Mammon collapsed, falling to the ground again with a thud, crying out in alarm. His head whacked against his protective helmet, and through the pain, his face paled as he connected the dots.

Of course.  Of course Shido ordered this mental shutdown.   Mammon–– _ Okumura _ ––knew too much.   

His breath hitched from both fear and pain as he processed this, but his daughter’s words rose up again in the back his mind, before a source for detriment, now becoming a well to draw strength from.  It was time for him to own up for all the shit he’d done. It was time to stop running, to yank his head out of the sand. Once more, he steeled himself, and the world slowed to a crawl as he came to a determined conclusion: he was not going down without clawing and kicking and screaming to stay alive.

He pretended to murmur and gripe in anguish, and while the pain was genuine, his face did not match the emotion in his voice completely.   He waited, heard the assassin speak in a polite, soft voice.  _ “It’s too bad, this; we just simply couldn’t have left loose ends.   Should you have leaked information to the Phantom Thieves after your change of heart, we would be in a lot of trouble.   You must know that…,” _ he said, voice filled with false pity.

Mammon did know that, but the hidden grimace on his face showed he wasn’t about to accept it.  The footsteps grew louder, and he spied the dark black and blue stripes of the assassin's outfit out of the corner of his eye.  He continued to tremble, pretended to cringe and accept his fate––

––until he sprung into action with as much agility as he could muster, quickly sweeping his leg around to pull the rug out from under the assassin.   As soon as he felt the arc of his foot complete itself, he pushed up from the ground, the self-destruct alarms that blared around him only urging him on to run and find his escape pod, to get the hell out of dodge.

The assassin hit the ground hard, his metal helmet striking the floor with a dull clang.  “Damn you,” he bit out, voice quickly losing all pretense of cordiality, replaced with a hateful growl.  “Come back and fight, you  _ coward _ _!_ ”

_ It isn’t cowardly to preserve yourself, _ Mammon thought with a strained smirk as he heard the bloodthirsty words ricochet off the chrome walls of his space station.  Though the pain only intensified as his blood pumped wildly through him, slowly leaking out of the wounds he harbored, he kept running; it was all he could do.   A mantra began to creep up in his mind. All he needed was to get to his escape pod, leave this bastard to blow to pieces with his station. All he needed was to get there and get out, all he needed was to get there and get out,  _ get there and get out,  _ **_get there and get out get out get out get OUT––_ **

He grit his teeth, staggering and nearly tripping over his own two feet.   He slowed down and turned down the hall, ducking behind a towering artificial plant and biting down hard on his lip to stop himself from panting and giving himself away, prepared to fire his laser gun at the first sight of movement.  As soon as he saw an opportunity, the first sign of any sort of movement, he fired three beams in quick succession, not caring if they hit. He lurched forward, sprinting further along and banked down a hallway to the left. The floor rumbled and groaned under his feet; there was little time left and the looming dread only made Mammon’s stomach churn more.  He was so close, he could  _ see _ his salvation up ahead in the form of a small ship, but he cried out when his knee gave out from the piercing and pain of another bullet.  He reeled, then tumbled to the ground, coughing out a strangled gasp.

The black-masked assassin staggered forward, gait unsteady from both feverish rage and the haphazardly-shot bullet that grazed his stomach during the chase.   _ “Now, then,” _ he began, voice rasping and grating,  _ “is there anything you would like me to tell your daughter?”   _ He cocked his pistol.

Icy sweat ran down Mammon’s neck, a light-headed feeling creeping from his lungs to his head, the blood loss and panicked hyperventilating catching up to him.   God, another shot and he’d be doomed, if he didn’t pass out first. He turned slowly and watched his attacker lurch towards him, backlit in an eerie scarlet light, with wide and frenzied eyes shining with a sadistic, nearly primal intent.  

**“I want to tell her that I’m sorry,”** Mammon started to speak, his voice as rough as his assailant’s.   **“I want to tell her that I love her and I’ll do** **_anything_ ** **to win back her favor––she’s the only one that matters in my life.  She’s the greatest treasure in this world.”**  He choked up slightly, hot tears budding in his wide eyes.  They widened further as he shoved down his second guesses one last time, face contorting into a deep, furious scowl in his building rage.  

**“But…** **_I’m going to tell her that MYSELF!_ ** **”**

Though he stumbled from his wounded knee, Mammon rushed forward with one last burst of adrenaline, grabbing the black mask by its horns and shoving with all his might, slamming it hard against the wall with a dull clang.  The assassin’s head bobbled unnaturally, jerked, and he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap. Mammon leaned against the wall, panting with the exertion, before he remembered that the clock was still ticking. His escape pod stood a few meters away, and it only took a moment for it to power up.

He realized in his daze that he faced a dilemma.  His ship could hold two––but _should_ _it_?  Was he willing to save this man’s life even though said man tried to end his?  Was it wise? Was it even possible, with how the floor shook, with how the ceiling nearly came down upon him and buried him?  He didn’t have the luxury to think on it, and so he made a snap decision, one more with his changing heart than his head.

He mustered up all his strength and picked up the assassin, carried him onto his ship, and plopped him in the copilot seat before sealing up and taking off into the cosmos beyond.   He looked back after a moment and watched in mild horror and a terrible sense of finality as the space station exploded in a brilliant flash of yellows, oranges, and reds. He winced, sighed heavily, and flicked a small switch on his outfit with a shaking hand.   His helmet curled back, and he shucked off the uncomfortable cap, shaking out his hair for a moment before putting his hands to the control pad once more, flying out into the deep black expanse of space.

Once he felt secure enough, Mammon put the escape pod on autopilot and choked on a groan of pain.  Right, he’d been shot. More than once. He immediately rummaged through a compartment near the control panel, looking for the emergency medical kit.  His panic grew until he saw that little glowing plus sign on the capsule, and he fished it out, opening it to find a small vial of viscous red fluid and tweezers among other supplies.  Breathing a sign of relief, he moved aside the tears in his armor and clothes, and mentally prepared himself for what was coming next. This was going to be fun.

Slowly but surely, he began to try and pluck and nudge the bullets out of his skin so that the healing liquid wouldn’t trap them inside when it mended his skin.  It took him a few minutes, but he managed it, all the while biting his lip so hard it bled in order to keep his would-be assassin asleep––the slightest cry could prove disastrous.  Once all three bullets were out, he immediately removed his gloves, uncorking the vial and pouring its contents on his wounds. He sighed in relief as the healing properties began their work, and soon the fire licking his skin became a dull, though no less irritating, pulse.  While it didn’t heal everything, it certainly wasn’t unappreciated.

His golden eyes moved to the figure beside him, and his wounds throbbed, grimly reminding the Shadow of the danger this black-masked assassin still posed.  Mammon unbuckled himself and quickly snatched the assassin’s gun, setting it far out of reach. He trussed the figure up in the multiple seat belts with his hands behind his back so he could do no more harm should he wake.

Once that was done and his breathing went back to normal, Mammon found himself oddly curious.  Just who was the famed black mask? The helmet was right there, ready and able to be removed––and so he did, carefully and slowly weaseling it off and untangling it from messy brown locks.

Mammon’s eyes widened in disbelief.  The second detective prince, Goro Akechi, slumbered rather fitfully beside him.


	3. deux.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mammon interrogates his assassin. They broker a deal.

**ii. –– part of the metaverse, august 1st, 2016.  
** _ donc, nous nous recommençons et commençons un nouveau jeu.  
_ _ \-- la deuxième partie de deux. --  
_ [ __ (recommended mood music) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGFZHBK2lTs)

 

There was absolutely no way this was happening, and yet it made complete and total sense.  Nobody was as squeaky clean as the second detective prince made himself out to be; the fact that his made-for-TV smile was just a practiced outer shell did not come as a surprise at all to Mammon, a man experienced with underhanded deals and the darkness behind cameras and interviews.  But even still, the Shadow shook his head, thrown for a loop. Just what the hell did Goro Akechi get out of this? Why was he working for the Conspiracy––why was he happy doing the dirty work for people like him?

As the young man stirred, blearily blinking his eyes open, Mammon thought he just might get his answer.   **“You were unconscious for longer than I expected,”** he began.

“Eugh… what––where am I?!” Akechi jumped to life as soon as he realized that he’d been tied up, struggling in the restraints like a cornered animal.  “What have you done?! Who the hell do you think you are?!” Akechi’s burgundy eyes glared daggers up at Mammon, who answered with a cool glare of his own.

**“You should be a little more grateful to the Shadow who saved your life even after you shot him––multiple times, might I add,”** Mammon said.

He took a step forward, observing the wriggling mess of an assassin before him, who sputtered and cursed under his breath as he struggled, in vain, to break free.   **“I have one question to ask you after all of this.  Why?”**

At this, Akechi slowed down, panic turning to suspicion.  “Why do you think? That’s a foolish question,” he spat, nothing but hatred in his eyes.

**“I’m not asking why you made the attempt on my life,”** Mammon clarified,  **“That I can easily ascertain on my own.  I want to know why you’re here in the first place.”**

At that, Akechi turned away with a scoff.  “As if you have any right to know.”

**“I may not, but humor me for a moment,”** Mammon said flatly.   **“Or I might just shove you out of this escape pod and leave you floating in space.”**

“After you went through all the trouble of saving me?” Akechi smiled, but it was more of a mocking curve of the lips than an expression of genuine amusement.  “I thought better of you after a change of heart, Okumura-san.”

**“I’ve had a change of heart, but I’m not stupid,”** Mammon countered, losing his patience.   **“Something had to have pushed you to this point.  And I want to know what that driving force is or was.”**

Akechi made a revulsed noise in the back of his throat.  “You already know far too much.”

**“Maybe so, but tell me why and I won’t tell the world that it’s you doing this,”** Mammon made his deal.  “ **There is always a method to the madness, and you’ve piqued my curiosity.** **With this transaction, you and Shido-san stay safe.  I get my peace of mind. Everyone’s happy.”**

“Sorry, I still don’t think that’s a very fair––” Akechi’s sentence stopped in its tracks as the barrel of his own gun centered right between his eyes.  His eyebrows arched, and he nodded in respect at the display of audacity. “––So I see you’ve decided to up the ante. Well done. Bold of you to assume I value my own life at all.”  His face betrayed him when it blanched as Mammon turned the safety off. The Shadow said nothing, and a stifling silence hung over the two of them.

“You’re hellbent on learning something so trivial,” Akechi murmured eventually.  He sighed through his nose. “Fine. Fine!  _ Fine _ ,” he leaned his head back, unable to move much else with any degree of ease.  “I’ll tell you; put my goddamn gun away.”

**“I’ll put it away once you’ve told me,”** Mammon wasn’t going to fall for any possible trap.   **“Go on.”**

Akechi rolled his eyes.  “You’re annoying, you know that?”  When he got no response, he finally spoke the truth.  “To begin… I don’t care at all about Shido or this country.  I don’t do this for any benefit to them. All I want is for him, for my father, to acknowledge me… and then I’ll exact my revenge upon him.”

This made Mammon pause, and he caught himself just before he began to lower the gun. **“Masayoshi Shido is your father?”** he asked incredulously.

“My mother was in a relationship with a good-for-nothing man, and I am his bastard child,” Akechi continued with a grim nod and a humorless smile.  “My very existence is a scandal. Her life turned for the worse when I came into this world, and she died because of his callousness. A child like me could do nothing as I was tossed around from foster home to foster home while he climbed the ranks of the political world and became a high-ranking official… until I learned of the cognitive world.  Then I could finally get through to him with my newfound powers. And once he reaches the apex of his power… once he’s at the pinnacle of the world… I’m going to whisper in his ear, tell him the truth of who I am... and then I, an utter disgrace to the world, am going to kill him.”

Once again, a silence hung over the two of them for a long while as Mammon processed what he’d just heard.   **“Alright, Hamlet Junior, two things,”** he snarked, taking the gun away from Akechi’s head.   **“First: do you really think he has no idea about your hare-brained scheme?  Do you think he didn’t recognize you at all as his son?”**

“That’s beside the––”

**“Second: what happens after you’ve finished with your ‘plan’, which, to be frank, really isn’t a plan at all?!  How exactly are you going to put your ideas into motion? HOW are you going to kill him? Exactly WHEN is the apex of his power?  How can you tell for certain, because everyone can reach new heights and stoop to new lows if they want to! What is your modus operandi once he’s reached it, if you even have one?  What’s your end goal besides Shido’s murder? Is it to just go to jail and live with the satisfaction?! Did you even think at all beyond just the sweet taste of fifteen minutes of victory?!  Did you have any clue as to what you’d be doing?! My god, you sound like you’re hanging onto a delusion, a** **_mantra_ ** **more than a** **_plan_ ** **!”**

“Shut up!” Akechi barked.

**“Oh, absolutely not!  What, did you come up with this when you were ten?! It sounds about as childish as a schoolboy’s comic book-style fantasy!”** Mammon snapped.

“Oh, like you could do better!” Akechi cried, struggling harder in his restraints.

**“I could’ve** **_absolutely_ ** **done better because I would have had at least a** **_semblance_ ** **of a plan in the first place before I made any decisions! You hadn’t thought to make** **_any_ ** **revisions to your modus operandi as the years progressed!?  You’re just asking to get caught, and you’re gambling with your goddamn** **_life_ ** **!”**

“What the hell do you  _ want _ from me with all of this?!  Is this good for you?! Is this some sort of sick catharsis, screaming at me?!  You don’t think I’ve  _ learned _ how stupid this is?!  You’re right! You’re right, it  _ is _ a delusion!  But it’s all I’ve got, because like hell I can back out now when I’ve got this much fucking blood on my hands!  Is  _ that _ what you want to hear?!” And Akechi had almost held out, but on the last couple of words, his voice cracked with emotion.  A pair of tears slipped down his cheeks. It was pitiful to see such a haughty little brat brought so low, and it tugged on the heartstrings Mammon only just realized he still had.

Mammon had no verbal response and yet his eyes softened, his face fell.  Akechi was most likely just barely an adult, no older than eighteen if he was still in high school––for so much of his work, for so much of his service to Shido, he’d been a child.  A stupid, reckless child, and a child that should have definitely known better, but a child.  **“You say that with such finality.”**

“What else do I have?  There’s nothing left for me.  I have nothing––no one,” Akechi shook his head slowly.  “You have no idea what being truly and completely alone is like.  And so I have resigned myself to this. I’m just trying to get my vengeance and be done with this world.”

**“I don’t think you’re going to be able to have that luxury,”** Mammon said after wincing in pain and sitting down in his chair once more.  He swallowed, trying to steel himself for just a little longer and negotiate one last deal.   **“You said you have no one, correct?  No other aspirations in life besides this one false dream?  Very well. I offer you at least a chance of pulling this off and maybe even getting away with it… if you truly believe the ends justify the means.”**

“Alright, I’ll bite,” said Akechi, not without great suspicion. “What exactly are you proposing?”

**“You keep me alive for now, and I shall begin to create false identities for us both once I regain my senses, as well as put in policies to make Big Bang Burger a far better place for the workers,”** Mammon began. **“I’ll make plans to resign, and I’ll call off the marriage with Haru’s fiancé.  At the press conference, with your assistance, I’ll fake my mental shutdown, and a few days later, I’ll fake my death.  Money can shut people up and it can grease a few necessary, but squeaky wheels––and I have plenty of it. I’ll wait in the wings as you do what you have to, you spontaneously ‘go missing’, and the two of us flee Japan together. I would propose going to somewhere like Malta, somewhere with a lot of tourists but somewhere we could stay for a while until it all dies down.”**

Akechi paused, trying to read the Shadow before him for any sort of jest, any lie, any little scrap of an untrustworthy emotion… and he found none.  “You would do this for me?” his voice faltered, shocked.

**“I’ve got plenty of people gunning for me.  With Shido’s cronies all throughout the police force, it’s likely that I would be dead even if I were put in jail to serve the proper sentence.  Can’t have me possibly telling anyone about what our good future Prime Minister has done,”** Mammon said, lips curling down into a scowl.   **“I realize the severity of my transgressions, and I’d do anything to start making amends.  I’m not going to let him kill me.”**

“I still can’t understand why you’d do this for me,” Akechi said, shaking his head and finally slumping into a relaxed position.  “But… I accept.”

**“Wonderful.  I’ll have to meet with you in some way and discuss further details,”** Mammon watched the fingers on his right hand as they began to fade into eerily pretty, pale light, feeling less fear than he imagined was proper to feel in a moment like this.  **“I believe I might have overstayed my welcome…”**

“Untie me, at least,” Akechi huffed.  As soon as Mammon did so with the last of his energy, Akechi leapt up and grabbed his gun from the seat, turned around to fire––and found the deep and vast expanse of space in Okumura’s Palace fading before his very eyes, with Mammon nowhere to be seen in the dissolving escape pod.  He blinked once, twice as his vision began to warp in a familiar way, rings of black and red and purple distorting his view and smearing his surroundings.

A moment passed.  Honking cars and city chatter fell on deaf ears as Akechi stared up at Okumura Foods’ Headquarters, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.


	4. trois.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru goes to see her father immediately after his change of heart. He tearfully apologizes for all his wrongdoings.

**iii. –– okumura household, roppongi, august 1st, 2016.  
** _ après un accès de misère, un coeur affaibli commence à récupérer.  
_ [ _ (recommended mood music) _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCfY9CNpqGw)

 

In the days that followed before that fateful press conference, time began to move by Okumura in a gray and indecipherable haze.  One moment it slowed to a miserable crawl, the next it dashed by after slapping him across the face. Despite this, he began to shakily piece a plan together that only came to him through strange, insistent instincts and compulsions and half-hallucinations that he couldn’t shake off as dreams.

The first four hours were absolute agony to get through.  He’d walked not five steps into the house after a long and arduous day and taken off his shoes at the door before a harsh wave of pain nearly split his heart in two with the sheer power of it.  He’d cried out, leaned back against the wall, wide eyes staring down at his hands and yet truly staring at nothing but a void.

He’d contracted and ordered the deaths of three people.  People with families, lives, hopes, dreams, and he’d crushed them for a chance at more money.  He’d indirectly caused the deaths of maybe a hundred more;  _ karoushi _ hotlines had talked to many a Big Bang Burger employee over the years.  Flashes of news reports replayed in his brain, detailing the scandals Okumura Foods had faced, the few desperate protests, and––

With a sob, he clamped a hand over his mouth to contain what would have been a scream.  Pushing past a nervous and concerned housemaid, he rushed into his study and locked the door, sinking down to the floor and trying to keep down the bile that began to slowly creep its way up his throat as he broke down.   He shook his head slowly, as if trying to command these realizations and feelings to heel and to leave him with some feeble denial. It didn’t work.

For the rest of those four hours, he sat in that weeping stupor, completely unresponsive to the world around him as he wrestled with his heart and tried to make sense of snippets of conversations and strange, movie-like hallucinations in his head of a black-masked boy and a dark yet fallen emperor making plans to escape together.  The staff’s words couldn’t penetrate the fog of grief that surrounded Okumura so fully and pervaded his mind so deeply, and they began to worry and talk in hushed tones amongst themselves, debating on what they should do: try and either snap him out of it or get him medical help if they weren’t able to wake him up.

At this point, Haru began to make her way to her father’s study, deciding that if anyone was going to get through to him while he was like this, it was going to be her.  If she could help her friends make it into his Palace in the first place, she had to be able to do something to snap him out of it. As she walked, brisk and solemn, she passed by a group of house-staff, overhearing their panicked discussion.

“Do you think Okumura-sama has overworked himself?” A maid asked, fiddling with the hem of her dress.  “I-Is he dying?”

“No, remember what happened to that gym teacher at Shujin?  Apparently he acted like this, too, holing himself up and crying his eyes out for a couple of days before confessing all of his crimes and begging the students and staff for forgiveness.  I’m banking on the Phantom Thieves. They probably got to him,” another shook her head, not convinced as she decided to supply her own theory. She couldn’t meet the other’s looks, staring out the window at the city nightlife.

“The Phantom Thieves?!  Well, Okumura-sama  _ was _ ranked quite high on their website…  I wouldn’t put it past them, nor is he undeserving of a change of heart...” the first maid muttered.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Haru spoke up, voice calm and sweet, even if she didn’t necessarily feel that way deep down.  “I ask that all of you please don’t fret. I know my father well enough to know that he shall make it through whatever this is.”

“Okumura-san!  Forgive us for our misconduct,” the first maid yelped and bowed deeply, completely embarrassed at being caught gossiping and worrying.

“It’s quite alright,” Haru smiled.  “I can understand all of your concerns––but rest assured, my father has been through worse trials and tribulations than this.  He’ll be alright.” She walked off with grace and poise, but her gentle smile slid off her face as she exited, replaced by a dour frown.

She knocked gently on the door of her father's study.  “Father?” she called. “I know you can hear me. I need to talk with you.”  Her tone left no room for argument, not that there would be any, she reasoned.

There was no verbal response, but there was a soft click after a long pause and some quiet rustling, and the door creaked open until there was enough room for Haru to step inside.  She glanced to her left and took in the sight of her father curled up in a ball, trembling like a leaf.

“Oh, do get up off the ground,” she said rancorously, glaring with unsympathetic brown eyes.  “You look like an idiot; it’s unsightly. Even if I’m the only one to see you like this, you should treat me with more respect––especially after what I believe might be the cause of all of this foolishness.”  Haru watched him try to hide his wincing at the words that echoed his own to her not so long ago, and she let herself take the smallest morsel of a bitter, cathartic satisfaction from his reaction. The shoe was on the other foot now, and it wasn’t a fun fit.  

Though, soon enough, following that satisfaction was a pang of guilt, and she sighed in frustration at how easily she could sympathize with those who were suffering, even in the face of her own misery.  “I’m sorry for speaking so cruelly. You look like you’re in a lot of pain.” Her attitude seemed a lot less fiery when she spoke up again.

Eventually, her father stood up and took a long, shaky breath.  “You’re absolutely correct. And don’t apologize; you have every right to speak to me in such a way after I’ve done so to you.  I implore that you forgive me,” he began brusquely rubbing the tears from his eyes as he spoke, “for this and all my other grievances.”

“If you show me you can be forgiven, then will I forgive you,” she countered, though she sounded less unkind than Okumura had expected.  She looked to his desk and motioned towards it. “I think we should have a seat for this discussion.” He acquiesced and sat across from her, head bowed until he felt the sober displeasure in her gaze.  When he lifted his head to her, she seemed to quietly approve.

“What’s happened to you?” she asked.  “Why have you locked yourself up in here and refused to answer to anyone who’s worried about you?  All of the staff are incredibly concerned.”

“I can’t say for certain,” he answered, running a hand through his hair.  “As soon as I got home, I had the worst revelation of my life.”

“And that was?”

“That I’ve made nothing but one horrible mistake after another for nearly six straight years, all in the name of my own greed and paranoia,” Okumura’s voice cracked, and he had to consciously fight to keep his composure, even as the compulsion to break down and scream his sins to the sky throbbed against his temples and tugged at his tongue.  “It all finally came crashing down upon me.”

“But you must have realized the gravity of your actions before you even decided upon them, and it didn’t seem to bother you then,” Haru said, hands folded on the desk.  “So what has changed?”

“What are you getting at?” Okumura’s brows slowly furrowed as he tried to decipher his daughter’s turn of phrase and its implications.  “What has––” he trailed off, eyes widening. “What has changed… my heart.” He swallowed thickly, hand rising slowly to lay on his chest.  “My heart has changed. They actually managed it.”

She nodded, studying his reaction with an unreadable expression.  “There was nothing stopping you from marrying me off to a man who treated me like property he could own and customize and belittle, and you had forgotten to treat those who work for you with the kindness and dignity they deserve,  all so you could keep rising higher and higher into the echelons––so I requested that they change your heart before you, quite literally, sold me off,” she spoke softly. “It seems they were successful.”

Okumura sat with that information for a while, processing.  He’d gotten so entrenched in his own desires that his own daughter had to be the one to convince the Phantom Thieves to steal his heart.  He’d treated her so poorly that she’d gone to these measures without hesitation, and from the sound of it, without regret. His own  _ daughter _ wasn’t safe.

His head fell into his hands and his shoulders shook, but he made no sound as he wept.  Haru waited for him to speak, steepling her hands. He wiped his eyes after a long moment, taking a slow, shaky breath before speaking.  

“There are no words to describe the immeasurable guilt and regret I feel upon these realizations.  There are no words to describe the grief that weighs my heart down, and I’m trying to remember and address everything I’ve done to hurt you in these six years; every line of dialogue I try to start with falls miserably short.  You were not safe in your own home, the one place you should always be safe, and you were hurt by the one man who should protect you and nurture you. Instead of making meals with you, like he used to, he sized you up for profit.  Instead of helping you with your problems, like he should have, he ranted about his own, forcing you into carrying some of the burden. An apology does nothing but provide a starting point, and above all else, I want to make amends with you and be the father you deserve––the father you haven’t had in so long.  Haru, my crocus, I am truly, deeply sorry for every bit of pain I’ve caused you.”

He could barely look at his daughter, but he forced himself to, forced himself to see just what he’d done and face it head on.  “I look upon my actions now with nothing but shame and disgust, and I vow to never let anything even close to that happen again… if you would let me try and be better.  You are my greatest treasure, and to lose you would be to lose one of the most brilliant lights in this world.”

When he saw her face, her eyes were guarded, her mouth a pensive frown.  He tugged down on his sleeves, his throat dry.

“You’re not going to marry me off to Sugimura-san?” the question didn’t sound like a question.

“Absolutely not.  If he treats you poorly, he shouldn’t be anywhere near you,” he immediately responded.  “I’ll take whatever measures you ask to be taken without hesitation, effective immediately.”

“And you’ll reform the Big Bang Burger chain into something more than a sweatshop?” Another non-question.

“Tomorrow I’ll sit down with Takakura and begin on new policies.  Never again will there be a scandal with the Okumura Foods’ name,” he vowed, conviction growing.

“You won’t take my phone or monitor who I’m friends with?  I’m no longer your puppet, no longer your bargaining chips?” this one was said with a tiny, tight smile, but her tone was anything but joyful.  He winced at it, the words piercing right through his heart.

“I should have never done that in the first place.  You are completely capable of making your own decisions in such matters, and I am glad that you have grown up into such a mature young woman.  From this moment on, I’ll support you with every bit I can give,” he said.

“And if I don’t want it?  If I hate you? If I curse your name?  If I destroyed everything you created without ever looking back?  And if I want you out of my life forever?” Her voice wavered more and more as she went on.

“I would leave without a word and you would never hear from me ever again.  I have no right to ask for any of this, but I beg of you to listen and believe me.  I love you very, very much, even if I’ve been absolutely terrible at showing it.”

She weighed his words in silence. After a long, tense moment, she spoke.  “I’m not able to forgive you in this moment. I might never be able to. What you did and what you proposed terrified me to my core.   You would have orchestrated the death of my happiness; I would have sacrificed it to provide for yours, like a good daughter of Okumura would.”   Her head was now the one to bow, ever so slightly.

“But... if I hadn’t found the courage to reach out to the Phantom Thieves, I would have done it without resistance because I love you, too, despite it all, and that’s why I asked them to change your heart.  I want to believe the father who raised me still resides somewhere and I can see him again, because I miss him so much. You’re going to have to work for a long, long time––maybe even the rest of your life––to make up for this.  But if you truly want to become a family again… then I’ll let you try and make amends.” She swallowed as a pair of tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m glad you’ve apologized. I can at least accept your words as your true feelings.”  She stood up, and he followed her, pulling her into a tight hug which she eventually reciprocated.

“You should go try and pull yourself together a bit,” she said, smiling against his shoulder.  “The staff are working themselves into quite a fuss over your condition.”

“Is that so?  I’ll have to apologize for my grave misconduct towards them, as well,” he laughed at himself, and she joined him with a quiet giggle.  He broke the hug to place his hands on her shoulders and just look at her, take in the proud young lady that stood before him with a reserved, but present gratitude in her eyes.  He gently kissed her forehead.

“Haru Okumura, you are a blessing,” he whispered.  “I’m honored to have you as a daughter. I swear it here and now: you won’t regret the kindness that you’ve shown me.”

“I appreciate the compliment and the promise,” she murmured back to him, and then broke away to go finish the her homework and alert her friends of the news.  He watched her go and wiped the last of the tears from his cheeks and eyes, and then headed for the bathroom to freshen up.

As soon as he stepped outside of his study, one of the maids caught sight of him and gasped.  A few others rounded the corner, and Okumura had to gently hold them back from swarming him as he apologized for worrying them and reassured them there was nothing wrong.  In fact, things were finally starting to go right.

He managed to shake them and get to the bathroom to wash his face, looking at himself in the mirror.  He was a wreck; his hair had fallen in messy strands from its usual coiffure, and the bags under his eyes looked only more and more visible under the pale, weak light overhead.  His cravat sat askew on his collar. After drying his face off, he methodically began to fix his appearance.

His cell phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him out of his reverie, and he pulled it out to spy one very specific number that made his blood run cold––the number he used to negotiate his contracts.  Who was calling him and why? Had they already suspected his heart was changed? He’d barely sent the calling card to the police two hours ago!

Why was he terrified in this moment?  Why did he still answer with a trembling hand?

“This is Okumura.  What’s the matter?” he asked slowly, trying to mask his fear.  To his surprise (and yet he saw it coming from a thousand paces in the very same breath), Shido’s deep, sneering voice wasn’t the one to answer.

_ “We need to talk––face to face, preferably.  There’s a lot to discuss, and not nearly enough time.”  _ The soft voice of the young man on the other end spoke quietly, but gravely.

Okumura instinctively complied, gaze hardening as he looked at himself again in the mirror.  “Lead me to you.”


	5. quatre.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okumura and Akechi create the skeleton of a plan involving faking their deaths. In the present day, Ohya becomes intrigued.

**iv. –– lip-smackin’ good ramen, ogikubo, august 1st, 2016.  
** _ et maintenant, de préparer le terrain des mensonges.  
_ [ _ (recommended mood music) _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VMCmDfSbFs)

 

Okumura hadn’t taken the subway in years, but he wasn’t in the mood or state of mind to drive.  Being packed in like a sardine against total strangers was somehow soothing to his paranoid mind; nobody looked at him for more than a moment, and he simply nodded and gave the occasional “understood” and “yes” on the phone as Akechi fed him directions––a completely normal, if rather one-sided, conversation, one that nobody would bat an eye at.  He willed his hands not to shake, his eyes not to dart, his head not to look behind him conspiratorially as he repeated that phrase over and over again in his head to keep himself calm. Nobody would bat an eye.

He hung up as Akechi gave the final set of directions, exiting from Ogikubo station and moving into  Kamiogi’s first district.  He found and entered a small, but busy ramen shop.  It  bustled with energy, the sounds of rowdy conversations, clinking bowls, and slurping making warm white noise that covered him like a blanket.  He surveyed the crowd for a moment before finding that iconic mop of long brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. The detective sat relatively alone; at the very least, the seat to his left was empty, and so Okumura took it and ordered his meal, glancing at the quarter-finished bowl sitting in front of Akechi.

Neither acknowledged the other, and they sat in tense silence for a moment before Akechi spoke, looking down to check his phone.  “So you really are going through with this.” He didn’t sound unwilling, but still spoke with great deliberation as if to analyze Okumura’s intentions again.

“It’s the only thing I can do that gives me the greatest chance at moving forward, no matter how foolish it looks from anyone else’s perspective,” Okumura responded in the same hushed tone, looking out at the groups of people that surrounded them.  “Of course, we’ll need to work out the details, and I believe that’s why you’ve called me here.”

“No, I simply wanted to chat with the man I nearly killed over a nice bowl of shoyu ramen, maybe apologize for not finishing the job over some kakigōri, too,” Akechi deadpanned.  “It’s my perfect idea of a Monday night out.”

“Oh, do be quiet; your sarcasm isn’t appreciated.”

“No, if you’re going to say foolish things, I think I have a right to chastise you.  Your Shadow had the pleasure, now so shall I.”

Okumura could tell that this was going to be a long night.  He huffed and threaded a hand through his hair. “Regardless, while there are quite a few documents I’ve got to get together for the two of us, I do know an acquaintance or two who might be able to get us started.”

“I assume that’s for forging a koseki and jūminhyō.”

“Not forging; the best course of action would be to buy out someone’s identity, because a forty-two year old man with no work history or financial records suddenly popping up out of the blue would read as incredibly suspicious to anyone willing to look into it, would it not?”  At this question Okumura’s eyes glanced briefly over at Akechi, who considered this.

“You’d be rich enough to deal with any consequences… but what you’re saying does hold water,” he agreed.

“The only issue is making sure that it’s someone who’d have the smallest number of ripples to deal with,” Okumura said.

“Ripples?” Akechi questioned, brows furrowing just a little at the strange turn of phrase.

“They’ve got to be mentally sound, in our age ranges,  not trying to escape some huge debt, feasibly close… things of that nature.  Anything like that could domino into bigger problems later down the line. The fewer ripples, the better.”

Akechi hummed and nodded in understanding.  “How are you going to find them and make sure that the switch is as clean as possible?”

“That most likely wouldn’t be up to me, but the people I’m paying have quite the track record.  With something like this, you don’t ask, you don’t tell.” Okumura couldn’t stop a shudder from running down his spine.  “I’m sure you would know how that works.”

Akechi winced briefly, but ignored the comment.  “How much can these acquaintances do, and how quickly?”

“Time and cost, I’ll admit, I’m not sure on, but if I shove enough money at them, I think their production time will speed up accordingly.  I’ve got enough to spare to not be all that worried about it. We’re going to need the koseki and jūminhyō, as we’ve mentioned, but there’s also the matter of licenses, passports, residence cards, number cards, hokensho––or kenkō-hoken, depending on what we’d be eligible for with whatever new personas we create.  That’s not to mention identification in the country we take refuge in…” Okumura trailed off as he tried to recall any other identification documents.

“You’ve thought about this quite a lot in the past few hours,” Akechi remarked, mildly impressed.

“No, I’ve been planning something like this for longer than I’d like to admit,” Okumura shook his head, nodding to the worker as she called out his order.  Taking the bowl, he mumbled his thanks and ate a couple of bites before continuing, savoring the way the broth threatened to burn his tongue. “A few years ago I had a particularly paranoid night, and decided that I should take any and all precautions for myself should something go terribly wrong.  I never went through with much more than planning and networking, but plan and network I did.” He was young, he was stupid; he’d just made the first decision to sacrifice health care for his employees in exchange for profit and the people pushed back hard, hard enough for his anxieties to flare up and urge him to prepare for the absolute worst.

“If I were anyone else, I’d be concerned about how prepared you are,” Akechi sighed, chewing perplexedly on a slice of pork belly.  “But if papers are dealt with, we still have to figure out where you’ll be living and how you get there.”

“The exact location might be better served when I’ve got everything together,” Okumura mused.  “Then I could actually search for somewhere and just look like a man trying to move. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I might try to snag an apartment in Jimbocho.  I’d be surrounded by books and harried salarymen––it’ll be just about as quiet as Tokyo could get. Additionally, it’s close enough to Haru that I might still be able to see her.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?  Or, at the very least, suspicious?” Akechi asked.

“I’m not just going to vanish after I’ve just promised her that I’m going to make things right.  The least I can do is still be present in her life until I have to flee for my own safety,” Okumura snapped, and he actually glared at Akechi for a moment.  Akechi met his eyes, his fingers lifting from the table just a bit like he was putting his hands up in surrender.

Okumura sighed heavily before continuing.  “I apologize for snapping at you. There’s a lot I’m going to have to figure out at a later time, but for now, I’ll make calls tomorrow and see if I can’t hit the ground running.  Preparations should be started and well under way before I’m in the hospital and unable to communicate effectively with the outside world, but they won’t need to be finished until I’m considered dead, which most likely wouldn’t be for at least a week or two after the mental shutdown.  I’ll need to start setting away money tonight to make sure my acquaintances, the hospital, the morgue, the banks, and the hairdresser don’t leave a scent for Shido and his dogs to pick up. I’m going to schedule a press conference for the end of the week so that this can go into effect as soon as possible.”

He sat up a little straighter.  “Speaking of the mental shutdown… we should move onto your matters.  You at least need to come up with some kind of deadline on your end,” Okumura said.

“Deadline?”

“When are you planning to do what you must?”

Akechi pondered for a moment.  “I suppose it would be easiest to say on December 19th, right after the election results,” he concluded.  “While Shido could gain more power afterwards, it would make the greatest impact if I did so then. Pride before the fall, and all.”

“Poetic cinema,” Okumura said flatly, taking a few more bites.  “At least by that time your papers should be well beyond ready.  I believe I’d be able to keep you in my apartment after you’re finished and dead to the world.  After that, we’ll fly out of Japan and I’ll give my company direction from the shadows until it would be safe for me to return.  Maybe you could study, get your life together a little more and start completely anew.”

“As long as wherever we go doesn’t have entrance exams, I’ll be fine,” Akechi chuckled dryly.

“Will you be able to manage?” Okumura asked, growing a little concerned.

“I’ve been managing much worse so far, so I can’t imagine it’ll be too difficult.  We’d be leaving before exams could start, so all I have to do is pretend to stress over it and go through the studying motions,” Goro shrugged.  “The bigger issue I have is getting the rest of Shido’s lapdogs off of my trail.”

Okumura hummed in grim agreement.  “They’re going to act like sharks having smelled a drop of blood once Shido’s out of the way.  What you can do is a juggernaut of an ability.”

“The simplest answer is a murder-suicide,” Akechi reasoned, “but I don’t want to leave a body behind and then have them realize it’s missing.  Two high-profile bodies missing from the morgue doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.”

“Arson?” Okumura suggested.  “Burn you and him to a crisp in a bomb explosion?”

“If only it wouldn’t cause a bunch of unnecessary collateral damage.  If only it wouldn’t be a pain in the ass to make,” Akechi pretended to sigh in wispy melancholy.

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Okumura asked coldly.  “I’d love to hear it. I’m sure you’ve thought about it at least once if you had this plan for so long.”

“No,” Akechi grumbled eventually, irritated at the repeated mention of his lack of foresight.

“So then we’ll go with this concept of a plan for now,” Okumura said.  “In any case, if you’re still figuring it out, you have a good few months to let inspiration strike your mind.  The election is months away. I’m going to set up a press conference at the end of the week.”

Akechi nodded.  “Let me know when and where.  I believe we’re done here for today.  We have a starting point.”

“Are you that fed up with this discussion already?” Okumura’s lips curled in a wry half-smile.  “Don’t tell me this is worse than the interviews you’ve got to endure.”

“No, though it ranks among the worst of them.  I’m more concerned about the man that’s glanced at you four times in the past fifteen minutes,” Akechi said.  “Don’t look, but he’s to your left in your periphery.”

Okumura’s heart skipped a beat, but he took a few more bites of ramen, trying to focus on the crunch of the bamboo shoots in his mouth.  Now that he was paying attention, he did feel eyes upon him, cold, gray ones belonging to a disheveled, tired looking man that looked both out of place and fit perfectly on him.  “Reasonable. I appreciate you letting me know.”

“I’m sure we’ll be keeping in touch.  Best not to let anyone catch wind of this.  I wish you the best of luck in the coming weeks, Okumura-san.  Trust me; you’re going to need it even more than I will.” Akechi drained his bowl and set it down with a content sigh.  He got up with a practiced smile, leaving Okumura completely alone.

 

\--//--//--

 

Ohya scowls as Okumura pauses in his recount.  “So even after winning the fight for your life and subduing him in the Metaverse, you couldn’t pull the trigger on the person responsible for this entire mess of problems.”

“A prized asset like him going missing would have caused a complete uproar in the Conspiracy,” Okumura’s frown matches her dour look.  “I did the best with what I had available. And besides… he was more than useful in the end, even if things didn’t go as planned.”

“A very shrewd way to phrase it,” Ohya compliments, but her tone reads anything but admiring.  “But please, elaborate for me. More than useful how? Just what is Goro Akechi capable of?”

 

_ I am thou, thou art I.  
_ _ Thou hast acquired a new vow. _

_ It shall become the wings of redemption  
_ _ that breaketh thy chains of villainy. _

_ With the Magician and Death fostering the other’s rebirth,  
_ _ the winds of blessing shall lead to freedom, grace, and new power. _

**The Magician and Death Confidants have begun.**


	6. cinq.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okumura has one last dinner with his daughter and the vice president of his company, and drops a bomb upon the conversation.

**v. –– okumura foods headquarters, roppongi, august 6th, 2016.  
** _ le fantôme de la mort hante le dernier repas d'un pécheur.  
_ [ _ (recommended mood music) _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUM-2gfM_LM)

 

“Kunikazu, are you even listening to me?  I’ve asked you the same question thrice now.”

Okumura jolted slightly, posture stiffening as he looked towards Takakura beside him.  He’d gotten lost in thought, distant eyes staring out at the skyline as his mind buzzed with ricocheting snippets of the phone calls he’d been making.  His ‘acquaintances’ had finally found a man willing to give up his identity, one Ichirou Matsuoka––funnily enough, a conductor down on his luck and in failing emotional health.  All he’d need to do was get hair extensions, grow a beard, and this just might work.

“I––Do forgive me,” he apologized quickly.  He looked back down at the piles of papers laid out across his desk, but his head began to swim again.  “There’s been a lot on my mind lately.”

“A lot on your mind is one way of putting it,” Takakura said, not hiding his concern, nor his irritation.  “You’ve been working nonstop on these company reforms for the past four days like someone’s holding you at gunpoint to make sure they get results.  In all our years together, I’ve never seen you act like this. I think, for your health, we should stop for tonight. Something serious is troubling you.”

“No!” Okumura cried, his voice far more harried than was prudent to show.  “Absolutely not; I need to do this  _ now _ , there’s no time to waste––”

Takakura stood up, hands meeting the desk with a dull, loud  _ thunk _ of emphasis.  “Kunikazu Okumura, you’re hiding something from me and I’m offended that you think I’m the kind of man to sit here and stand for such antics, especially from you.  Your recent behavior has gone far past your normal determination and ethic––you’ve been working like a dog, and you keep making hushed phone calls when you think you’re alone.  I’ve watched you take your ledger out and check and double-check and triple-check for some ungodly reason, and I don’t appreciate the secrecy on whatever’s going on behind your closed doors.  Not only am I the one to succeed you and take over the company should something go wrong, but I thought I was your friend of over twenty years, as well. So you’re going to either tell me now or I’m going to drag you home myself so you can get some goddamn rest.” Takakura’s steely glare left no room for haggling, no room for compromise.  Okumura knew this look well; he’d received it many, many times over the years.

“Osamu…” Okumura faltered before sighing like all the life had been drained out of him, pushing up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.  “It’s… a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“No, it––not here; I don’t want to discuss it in this office.  There’s one other person who needs to hear what I’m about to say…. so let me at least make sure the skeleton of the new employee benefit plan is workable, and once that’s done, I invite you to dinner at my house.”

“I’d be glad to join you,” Takakura let his lips curl in the slightest of smiles, glad to have gotten through to his friend.  “Now, as I was asking you: you said you were going to give paternity leave as well as maternity…”

A few hours passed, and finally the stacks of paperwork had signatures and notations galore, looking far more manageable and ready for discussion around the conference table.  Okumura sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. When he glanced at the clock, it read six in the evening.

“We’re finally done?” Takakura asked with a thin brow cocked.

“Yes… this is acceptable,” Okumura nodded, getting up and preparing to leave.  “I think I’m making sukiyaki tonight. I need to gather the meats and vegetables, so do tell me what you like.”  Takakura didn’t respond, but Okumura took one look and saw the cogs beginning to turn in his head. Sukiyaki was Okumura’s favorite comfort food––he was in for something big.

Takakura left to grab his belongings, and Okumura immediately headed towards the elevator and pulled out his phone, calling that purposefully unnamed number.

It took only a half a ring for Akechi to pick up.   _ “Hello?” _

“I’m telling them tonight,” Okumura murmured as he walked.

_ “Them?  I thought it was just your daughter.” _

“You don’t think it prudent for the new head of the company to know what happened to its former CEO?”

_ “A fair point.  I trust this isn’t a decision you’ll regret.” _

“If it was, I wouldn’t tell you about it.  Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

_ “I’m always prepared.  Sometimes my job is… short notice.” _

“Very good.  I’m counting on you.”

There was a pause before the young man responded, like the words he was about to speak were the most confidential of all.   _ “And I on you.  Good evening.” _  And he hung up.

Okumura mulled over that briefly before calling up Haru, glancing over to Takakura as the man joined him at the elevator.

_ “Father?” _ she sounded confused as to why he was calling.   _ “Is something the matter?” _

“Hello, my crocus,” he greeted with a small smile.  “I would like to discuss something with you and Takakura-san over dinner tonight.  Are you available?”

_ “I… yes, of course,”  _ she answered, mildly shocked.   _ “Should I make any preparations?” _

“No, I’ll be cooking everything tonight.  I want you and Takakura-san to let me handle it all.  We haven’t had sukiyaki together in a while,” he said.

_ “I suppose this isn’t going to be a very happy conversation, is it?”  _ she asked flatly.  He scrunched up his nose.

“Wh––Wait a minute, what do you mean by that?!”

She laughed without any humor.   _ “You’re cooking alone and you’re making your favorite dish.  I’ll see you when you get home.” _

“Haru…  it’s something manageable,” Okumura said with a sigh.  “Would you both just please trust me on this one?!” he asked, exasperated as he glanced to Takakura.

“You’re not helping your case,” Takakura commented.

“You’re not helping my blood pressure nor my self-esteem!” Okumura retorted.

_ “Did you pass out at work again?” _ Haru asked, concerned.

“No, I didn’t.  I just have… matters to discuss.  Just––just let me get home! I’ll see you very shortly.  Let the kitchen staff know they have the night off; I want to cook my own food tonight,” Okumura sputtered and hung up with a groan.  He ran a hand through his hair, then jabbed the button to summon the elevator. Takakura, thankfully, stayed quiet.

They separated to go to their cars, and on the way home Okumura stopped by the supermarket to pick up sliced wagyū beef, ito konnyaku, and green onions before returning home at last.  He opened the door just as Takakura pulled up in the driveway. “I’m home,” he called.

Haru was the first to greet him, already waiting in the living room with her phone in hand.  “Welcome home,” she responded, expression carefully unreadable. “How was your day at work?”

“I’ve made the last preparations before the press conference tomorrow.  Would you mind setting this bag on the kitchen counter?” he handed it to her, and she took it, leaving just as Takakura walked in.

“I haven’t tasted your cooking in a while.  I’m looking forward to this,” he said.

“I hate what it has to accompany,” was all Okumura answered with.  After removing his shoes and putting away his bag and coat, he set about to work cooking.  

As he diced the cabbage and sliced the carrots into thin stripes, his mind began to clear and his heart lifted.  He didn’t need a recipe, he didn’t need to worry about making sure this would taste good, because it always did; he didn’t need to think about Akechi and Shido and the looming threat of the press conference the next day.  In that hour that he spent preparing the meal, he let himself be at peace.

As soon as he set the hot pot down on the table, all of that tranquility flew out the window, leaving him to tug at his sleeves fruitlessly as he sat down.  The three began the meal in relative silence until Okumura cleared his throat.

“There is no easy way to put this,” he said.  “At the beginning of this week, the Phantom Thieves changed my heart.  And because of who I am and what I know, some people are going to be–– very unhappy that I know what I know.  In response to the threat they pose… I’m going to have to fake my death.”

A horribly long and painful pause followed as Takakura nearly choked on his food and Haru stared at her father in sheer disbelief.  “Wait––I’m sorry,  _ what _ do you need to do?!” she cried.  “What in the world are you thinking?!  What led you to the conclusion that  _ this _ is how you deal with your problems?!”

“Kunikazu, you can’t be serious,” Takakura said through coughing.  “Faking your death!”

“Will you both keep it down!?” Okumura hissed.  “I don’t know who’s listening and I don’t want any of the staff overhearing this!  I’m trying not to be hysterical enough as it is;  _ I’m _ the one who has to go through with it!  But––yes, I meant what I said and I said what I meant.  My life is at stake. I need to fake a mental shutdown at the press conference tomorrow and hide before fleeing the country.”

“Just who in the world is so ‘very unhappy’ with your existence?  And why is faking your death and then fleeing the country like a criminal on the run the most sensible option?” Haru asked through gritted teeth.

Okumura sighed.  “Haru… how much do you know about the people I work with and come in contact with?”

“Not much at all, apparently,” she responded.  “If there are people in the company who want you dead, you do have the power to just fire them, Father.  Unless your heart hasn’t been changed as much as you say it has, because this is one incredibly stupid way of avoiding responsibility, but not one I’d put past you at this point…” she folded her arms, giving him an icy look of suspicion.

“No, no, that’s not it at all, there’s just––” Okumura groaned in frustration, wringing his clenching and unclenching hands for a moment.  “There’s––Masayoshi Shido is the head of a conspiracy to ensure his position as Prime Minister. In exchange for large sums of money, he granted me a chance at a foothold in politics and eliminated some of my business rivals.  He’s been behind every mental shutdown and psychotic episode that’s happened within the past three years, and everything circles back to him or benefits him in some way.”

As he grew more animated, he began speaking with his hands, gesticulating sharply and dramatically. “Because I know about him and because my heart has been changed, he’s probably concerned that I’ll confess to everything that I’ve supported and been a part of, which will destroy any chance he has of getting what he wants!  So, even though the assassination attempt failed, I need to pretend to die like he wants me to and then flee the country after a few weeks of hiding. From there I can puppet the company from the shadows, make reforms, set it on the right path ‘post-mortem’, and try and stay somewhere in your life, Haru. Because I promised you I’d do better by you and by God I’m going to fucking do it because  _ I love you _ and you deserve reparations for the wrongs that have been done to you.  Takakura, you’ve dealt with my idiocy and greed for far too long for me to just kick the bucket and leave you to pick up the pieces all by yourself.   _ That’s _ why I’m taking this extraordinarily stupid leap, because it’s the only choice I have!  If I wasn’t at risk of dying gruesomely in prison, I’d gladly be pleading guilty in court at this very minute and refusing any and all attempts at bail or parole!”

He caught his breath, huffily wiping tears from his eyes and fixing his cravat.  Haru and Takakura sat in stunned silence, the small piece of mushroom in Haru’s slack chopsticks splashing back into the broth in her bowl.

“And I’m terrified.  I don’t know what this will hold for me; I don’t even know if it’s going to work.  All I know is I need to make sure I have a chance to be better because I’ve messed up so horribly.  I needed to tell you both before this happens. You two are the only ones I trust enough with this information and you’re the only ones who deserve to know.  The rest of the world wants my head on a platter. You don’t, so I don’t want you thinking they’ve gotten their wish,” Okumura finished softly.

Haru didn’t say a word as she got up to embrace her father, and he returned it immediately.  Takakura placed a hand on his shoulder.

“So that’s what the contracts and the long hours were for,” he said.

“Nothing ever gets by you, does it?” Okumura asked with a tired, shaky smile.

“Not when it comes to you.  But if this is the decision you have to make for your own safety… then I’ll do what I can to support you and protect Haru-chan,” Takakura replied firmly.

“Thank you, Osamu,” Okumura said softly, blinking back tears once more.  His daughter and his dearest friend’s support lifted a weight off his shoulders.

“Of course.” Takakura leaned back, grabbing some more cabbage from the pot.

“Father…” Haru buried her head in his shoulder.  “This had better work, or I’m going to be very cross with you.”

“I’ll do my best for you,” Okumura said, gently kissing Haru’s head.  When he moved closer, Haru whispered in his ear.

“The Phantom Thieves will have to know about what’s going on, since this will seem like a stain on their image and they should be given the chance to prepare.”

“Can you do that without any evidence of the conversation happening?” Okumura whispered back.

“Without question.”

“I thought so.  We’ll talk later.”  With that, she broke away to sit back at her seat.

The meal went on quietly, with Takakura and Haru asking a few more questions and agreeing to help with moving and distracting the press when it came time, but for the majority of it the trio simply processed the gravity of the situation at hand.  A faked mental shutdown on live television was surely going to be a spectacle. Takakura left after helping clean up, leaving Okumura alone with his daughter.

“I’m sorry that this is happening, Haru,” he said to her as she turned to go upstairs to her room.  

She looked back at him.  “I don’t want the alternative.”

He bit his lip, thinking for a moment.  “Would you want to put on  _ Perfect Blue _ tonight?  We haven’t watched it together in forever,” he offered.

A smile slowly lifted her lips.  “I think I’d like that.”

“Wonderful,” he said.  “One quick question, though.”

“Yes?”

“How long have you been a Phantom Thief?”

She chuckled, soft and tired.  “Only a few weeks. But I’ve known them for a while; they were closer to me than I thought.  I hope my acting was up to par.”

“It was, but I’ve had my suspicions since the calling card.  Only someone dear to me could even get close to changing my heart, and you would have either had to have been personally involved from the sidelines or one of them from the beginning.  I just took a guess on which one.  Thank you, Haru,” he said, watching her ascend the stairs.


	7. six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The press conference arrives. Akechi finds a runaway in the Metaverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for eye trauma, blood and other fluids, and depictions of self-harm involving picking/scratching one's skin.  
> (it's okumura's shutdown; you know what to expect.)

**vi. –– okumura foods headquarters, roppongi, august 7th, 2016.  
** _ce jour fatidique est venu; cela ouvrira les portes de l'enfer.  
_ _(recommended mood music –_ [ _part 1_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWke3PvsLlM) _||_ [ _part 2_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07qt2SXcfP0) _)_

 

The lights shone bright like spotlights illuminating every feature on his face, every strand of his perfectly coiffed hair.  Fifteen microphones, each labeled with a different news station, sat accusingly on the table in front of him, like their long bodies were already pushing and probing into his personal space, trying to hear each and every word from his mouth and each and every thought in his head.  Cameras were hauled up onto people’s shoulders, and hundreds of phones sat waiting and recording in the seats before him, some probably livestreaming the event. Haru and her friends were watching from Destinyland, and for a brief moment, he wished she were here with him. But no––she was away from the press, where she should be.  They would swarm around him like flies to rotten meat, and descend upon her like a pack of wolves.

The city of Japan waited with bated breath for Kunikazu Okumura’s first address.  Slowly, he stood as clicks and flashes heralded a barrage of photographs. “Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to gather here.  Today I’d like to elaborate upon the whole truth behind my company’s labor situation. How my employees were forced to work under severe conditions, how––lax we were with sanitation, and how my corporation as a whole worked to… cover up every facet of this scandal.  For this, I wholeheartedly apologize,” his voice cracked at the end as he bowed as deeply as he could to the chorus of clicks. His forehead brushed the table.

“So are you saying all of this was done under your orders?” a journalist asked over the din.

“Yes.  I am solely responsible,” Okumura nodded.

“We heard that dozens of employees were forced to resign due to mysterious illness.  Furthermore, these happened to be officials who stood against your proposal for overseas expansion.  The same thing also happened to executives at competing companies who were looking to expand abroad. Is all of this true?” another journalist chimed in.

“Yes,” Okumura nodded again, keeping his voice level as best he could.  Where was Akechi? When was this going to happen?  What would it feel like?  What would he do?

“Was it all coincidence?”  When Okumura didn’t respond, the reporter gently pressed.  “We’d like some answers.”

It took another moment for Okumura to open his mouth, a strange chill running down his spine.  His heart dropped to his stomach, and his mouth went dry. The tips of his fingers went numb.

“About that… I have a critical piece of information to announce here today,” he began, looking down at his hands.  He had to blink a few times as his vision went hazy for a brief moment. “I…”

And in that moment, it was like a switch flipped in his mind.

 

\--//--//--

 

About ten minutes before, in a world a hair’s breadth from reality, Goro Akechi took the escalator down to the Path of Adyeshach.  The labyrinth of Mementos spiraled around him, but the Metanav insisted that he was headed in the right direction towards Kunikazu Okumura’s shadow.  In fact, he’d found it puzzling and concerning that the destination kept changing; the Shadow’s location actively kept getting closer. Just as he decided to put a pin in it, he heard a cry and a thud.  Confused, but immediately suspicious, Akechi darted into the murky depths of the subway-like path, moving towards the sound.

There, he saw Okumura’s Shadow scrambling to his feet, clinging to the wall for some stability.  His clothes were torn, and small splotches of blue dappled his pale skin. His hair floated limply in some unnatural wind or water.  Golden eyes met burgundy once more.

 **“You!”** The Shadow gasped in relief, joy clear in his expression.

“You,” Akechi repeated, helping the Shadow to his feet.  “Why are you running?”

 **“There’s no time to explain; they’re going to––”** The Shadow kept looking behind him, and then broke into a sprint again, heading back up towards the escalator.

“They’re going to what?  Who’s ‘they’?!” Akechi took off after him, running through Mementos at the same full-throttle pace.

**“The guards!”**

“Guards?” Akechi questioned.

 **“HALT!”** a voice boomed from behind them, and a being made of smooth, articulated pieces of gold metal appeared behind them, followed by two made of silver. **“CEASE AND DESIST.  DO NOT PROTECT THE INMATE WHO HATH ESCAPED.”**

Akechi grimaced, pulling out his saber from its sheath.  “I’m sorry, I’ve got to keep this one alive. I don’t know who you are or what you want with him, but I’d prefer if you leave the two of us _alone._ ”

 **“Can you take all of them at once?”** Okumura’s Shadow asked, cowering behind Akechi.

“I’ll be fine,” Akechi grinned.  “I’ve fought worse.”

 **“IF THOU ART AN ACCOMPLICE TO HIS CRIMES, THOU SHALT BE PUNISHED IN THE SAME MANNER.  PREPARE TO DIE, CRIMINAL!”** The golden shadow melted into darkness and exploded into an angelic being carrying a shield and spear, and the silver ones multiplied and bloomed into bright red cyclops-ed starfish––seven of them.

Akechi paled.  Eight against one?  That wasn’t very fair.  Doable, but not very fair and certainly more time-consuming than he was comfortable with.  He turned back to look at Okumura’s Shadow, and his eyes lit up with an idea.

“Okumura-san… I need you to trust me.  You don’t want to be caught, do you?” he called.

 **“Of course not,”** the Shadow responded, fear in his eyes.

Akechi summoned Loki, the blood of his sins running down his face.  “Then you’ll need to fight for your freedom.” The Persona balanced easily on his giant, red-hot sword, looking down at the other personification of desire with a wicked smirk.  Loki held out a hand, and shadows raced over to Okumura’s Shadow, swallowing him whole.

The blob of darkness convulsed until it collapsed, and the Shadow’s body began absorbing it.  Okumura’s Shadow panted loudly, body twitching. And then he began to chuckle, the sound a rasp at first, but as he stood up, it grew to laughter and eventually to full-blown cackles of raging delight.  Golden eyes stared, wide and unstable in black sclera and bleeding profusely. His skin was a vibrant blue once more, twisted and carved in wiry sinew that warped his form. Deep red and black flames coursed around him.

 **_“Gimme the fucking sword.  I’m ready,”_ ** he snarled through his wide, unholy grin.  

Akechi tossed it over without a second thought, and as soon as he snatched it up, Okumura’s Shadow screamed, charging head-on into the mess of starfish, who swarmed around him.    The Shadow kept hacking and slashing, making up for panache and technique with sheer, brutal force and undying fervor. Dark blood sprayed over him, painting the remains of his suit and his skin a deep, inky black.  Akechi stayed on the outside and used Okumura’s Shadow as a distraction, Robin Hood and Loki swooping down into the fray and tag-teaming with a well-placed piercing arrow and a heavy Almighty swing of the sword.

Soon, only the angel was left, twitching from a blast of electricity that Okumura’s Shadow summoned.  It threw its shield at Okumura’s Shadow, clocking him square in the head and sending him tumbling onto his ass, but Akechi refused to let that slide, firing right into its shoulder and taking the moment it spent getting back on its feet again to yank Okumura’s Shadow upright.

“Distract it and I’ll make an opening to finish it off––it doesn’t seem to like Curse-based attacks!” he informed.  

Okumura’s Shadow laughed raucously even as he swayed on his feet. **_“With pleasure!”_ **Once again, he dove right into the fray without a care for his own well-being, sparring with the angel.  Without its shield, it proved far worse of a fighter. Once Akechi got a clear shot, he fired straight into the angel’s gut, and as it collapsed and fell prone, he sprung into action.  Okumura’s Shadow fell right in time with Akechi in an all-out attack, leaping and bounding and ripping the angel to ribbons far too quickly for it to retaliate. With a long, shrill howl of pain, it dissolved into black mist and faded away.

Okumura’s Shadow watched and kept laughing, staggering over to where the angel and its squadron had died, clutching Akechi’s sword in a trembling hand.   **_“Is that it?!  Is that ALL!? COME OUT AND PLAY A LITTLE WHILE LONGER!  I’M NOT DONE YET! I’M NOT DONE––”_ **  He sank to his knees.  Akechi walked over, in awe.

“That’s––I believe that will be enough.  You’re wounded. You’ve become psychotic,” he said, wrestling the sword from the Shadow.  He pulled out a small vial of medicine, handing it to the Shadow to drink from. Some of the major wounds closed up, but the Shadow still looked far worse for wear.  He wiped at his eyes, which turned normal once more as the blue left his skin. His hair fell limply at his neck and chin.

“I think that will take care of you, though,” Akechi helped the Shadow back to his feet.  “How do you feel?”

 **_“I FEEL––I feel…_ ** **Oh, I feel like** **_shit_ ** **,”** Okumura’s Shadow groaned, knees buckling.   **“What did you do?”**

“You went psychotic, and I believe that’ll be enough to create a convincing mental shutdown,” Akechi said.  Now to get you somewhere safe. Come with me.” He let Okumura’s Shadow lean on him as they ascended the escalator.

At long last, they reached the escalators leading towards the entrance, and Akechi set Okumura’s Shadow down to rest against the wall.  “I recommend you stay here for the time being.”

 **“Thank you,”** Okumura’s Shadow sighed, curling up into a ball. **“I won’t have to do that again, will I?  I don’t think I could take it.”**

“No, I don’t believe you will.  That should be enough,” Akechi looked up towards the escalators.  “I have to go, though––Shido-san will get suspicious if I’m gone too long.”  He gave the Shadow a couple more food items, which he devoured.

 **“Good luck to you, too.  I… that was exhilarating, I have to admit,”** Okumura’s Shadow gave a wan smile.

“I’ve never seen a Shadow go so berserk––and I make them do that for a living,” Akechi scoffed out a laugh.

 **“I’m sick and tired of being tossed around and I’m sick and tired of suffering.  It was cathartic to finally cut into someone,”** Okumura’s Shadow said.   **“I almost want to do it again.  But you should go.”**

“Stay safe.”

**“You, as well.  Good luck, Goro-kun.”**

Akechi departed, but as soon as he left the Metaverse, he nearly slapped himself.  What the hell had just happened?! Why hadn’t he stayed just a little longer and gotten any answers?! What kind of detective was he?!

 

\--//--//--

 

“I…  I-I…” Okumura tried to make a sentence, but became frighteningly aware of his tongue in his mouth, of his nails covering his fingers.  His hands trembled, his breath hitched as he continued to scrutinize his body under the blinding lights. His eyes began to dart around, looking out at the swarm of faces moving from shadow to light to shadow as they swam around in his vision.  He looked down at his hands once more to find his veins breaking, blue spreading throughout his skin. A cold vacuum settled over him, making his skin crawl. His skin, what was wrong with his skin?! With a whimper, he tried to pick the blue out, first in one arm, then the other, then his neck, his cheeks, his eyes––

His eyes _ached_ as his head throbbed with a splitting headache that crashed into his frazzled mind like a truck.  There was something wrong with his eyes, too, now, he needed to pluck them out before the corruption spread, before the shadows came to take him away, pluck them out, out, out, out damn spot, out damn blue, out with it all, out with it, out, out, _out––_

He heard screaming and barely recognized it as his own voice, his mind watching his body like a spectator in the crowd, who gaped in horror as Okumura scratched himself until he bled, viscous liquid dripping from his mouth, nose, and eyes all the while.  His eyes rolled back and he finally collapsed onto the table, knocking over microphones and sending ear-splitting feedback blaring into the conference room.

The televisions broadcasting quickly cut to a cheery screen of crayon-colored puppies playing by a river.


	8. sept.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okumura recovers from his mental shutdown, but falls into a depressive spiral. Akechi, concerned, goes to visit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for some nasty depression and thoughts that come with it.

**vii. ––  takemi medical clinic, yongen-jaya, august ???, 2016.  
** _ la mort rend visite courte au pécheur. la dépression suit… mais parte.  
_ [ (recommended mood music) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3srhIS-LCo)

 

When Okumura came to, he tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, collapsing down on what felt like a stiff foam bed once more as his body suffered from wave after wave of pain.  His face and arms felt stiff, pain pulsing in small lines when he grimaced. His lungs wouldn’t fill up all the way, and his joints ached. He heard the faint beeps, whirrs, and clicks of medical equipment, and turned his head to see a heart monitor and a blood-pressure monitor, along with a pair of IVs.

“Where…  Where am I?” he croaked, voice hoarse with lack of use.

“You’re awake,” a woman’s low voice answered, and a doctor with a punk-goth dress under her white lab coat walked into view.  “Took you long enough.”

“Took me––what?” Okumura asked.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been conked out in my back room for about three and a half days now after the hospital pronounced you dead.  Your ‘friends’ and a few of mine pulled a couple strings, and we’ve kept you here and out of the prying eyes of the press,” the doctor shrugged.  “But hey! The medication worked. I’ll chart that as a success.”

“Medication…?  What day is it?” Okumura shook his head.  “Where’s Haru?”

“It’s August 13th, and she’s right beside you,” the doctor motioned to Okumura’s left, and when he looked, he choked up at seeing his daughter’s tired, sleeping face as she half-laid in a chair beside him, fast asleep.  “She’s been coming here every day ever since you were dropped off. Almost thought you weren’t going to make it,” the doctor continued.

“Haru…” Okumura called.  “Haru…!” His daughter startled awake with a gasp, grabbing instinctually for something that wasn’t there when she turned to look at her father.

“Father!” she cried, tears immediately welling up and trailing down her cheeks.  “You’re awake!”

“Just barely,” he beamed through his own tears, “but I told you I wasn’t going to let you down.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” she wept.  “What happened on television, it––it was gruesome.  And when you were in the hospital, you looked terrible…  When you said you were going to fake your death, you didn’t need to do that.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he said.  “It was what it was.”

“It did look pretty nasty, but most of the wounds are superficial,” the doctor agreed.  “If that was to convince someone you’ve snapped and died, you did a damn good job. Rest easy; your funeral’s next week.  I just might pay my respects to the best actor I ever met.” Okumura managed a laugh at that, but leaned heavily on Haru.

“I think I need to recover a little more,” he murmured.  “I still feel weak.”

“After a day or two and some actual food in your stomach and not just an IV, you’ll be up and moving again,” the doctor gave the pair a half-smile.  

“W-Wait a minute…” Okumura paled as he realized where he was and who he was with.  Had this been the doctor he’d paid?! Was this the Plague?! She couldn’t be... “Hold on!  I never––did I––how do you know––”

“Save your breath and don’t spike your heart rate; your daughter told me everything and I don’t need any hush money to keep a secret I wouldn’t wanna tell, anyways,” the doctor waved it off.  “You and I are friends with the right people and we both have our skeletons in the closet. You’re covered. Just rest and get to where you need to go when you’re feeling strong enough.”

Okumura sat, stunned.  “Who are you?”

“Tae Takemi.  You’re welcome.” With that, she left to grab a refill for the IV, Haru following after giving her father a kiss to his temple and a soft “good night”.  He was alone in the room with his thoughts, staring up at the blank white ceiling.

When the time came, he left Takemi’s clinic, went to the hairdresser’s, and contacted the movers on his new phone (which Haru had given to him), seamlessly assuming his new identity.  He acted like a timid shut-in and fooled the moving company and his new neighbors with ease. But once they left him with his furnishings and his instruments, he lacked the energy to do much else but sleep for another couple of days, barely able to drag himself out of bed and eat to keep himself from starving to death.  It only got worse with each passing day. Dishes began to pile up, clothes lay in piles on the floor and on a chair in his room, and yet he had no desire to do anything about it. He had no desire to do anything.

Two weeks had passed since he’d first woken up, and he was alone again, staring up at the blank white ceiling of his apartment.  He felt like he’d barely moved even with all the commotion and uprooting, for here he was, still laying and staring.

Why bother? What was the use?  His health made it apparently clear he was living on borrowed time, anyways.  He wasn’t going to recover anywhere near quick enough for this. He wasn’t going to reform himself in enough time.  In six years he’d done a lifetime’s worth of damage, and all he was doing now was staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t even doing anything productive.

So why was he even here?  Why did he even bother to exist?  Why did he even try to justify himself?

He ran a hand over his newly-grown beard and sat up, looking down at himself again.  He was pitiful, a worthless, good-for-nothing CEO stealing the identity of a worthless, depressed conductor, living on money made from worthless, paranoid savings.  He was nothing––less than nothing.

He wanted to lay down and rot.

Unfortunately, before he could begin his journey to decomposition, there was a knock on the door.  His head slowly turned, gazing blankly at the door until he heard another knock. Draping a blanket over himself, he shuffled over and opened the door to see Akechi standing with an irritated expression.

“So you are alive after all,” he remarked flatly.  “I was getting worried.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Okumura sighed as he let Akechi in.

“There’s been absolute radio silence from you for the past week,” Akechi bit back.  “I had to wonder if something went wrong, so I came to check up on you.”

“I’m sorry.  I’ve been fine, just trying to keep a low profile,” Okumura apologized.

“There’s that and then there’s dropping off the face of the earth,” Akechi grumbled, looking around at the apartment.  “Something smells funny.”

“That’s the garbage,” Okumura replied.  “I need to take it out.”

“And you haven’t done your dishes in a while,” Akechi’s nose wrinkled as he glanced into the kitchen.

“At least I’m eating more often than not,” Okumura shrugged limply.

"Wait, what do you mean, you––oh, with all due respect, Okumura-san,  _ pull yourself together _ !” Akechi snapped, running a hand over his face.  “Are you seriously going to let yourself spiral after all the effort you put into keeping yourself alive?!  You’re going to fester in your own misery?!”

“I’ve just gone through four traumatic life experiences in a row, will you leave me alone?!” Okumura shot back.  “I think I deserve a little bit of a spiral!”

“That’s all well and good, but I wouldn’t be saying anything if you didn’t have people depending on you!” Akechi groaned.  “Haru-chan’s depending on you to stay alive, your company is depending on you to watch over the decisions made, in a small way, I’m depending on you…”

“I know that!  You don’t think I know?!  But I’m exhausted!” Okumura sat on the couch, his head in his hands, blanket falling away from his head like a hood falling down.

“That isn’t an excuse––” Akechi began, but faltered immediately.  “Are––oh, my god, you got  _ hair extensions.   _ You grew a beard and you got hair extensions.  You look  _ ridiculous; _ you look like a _ homeless person _ .”

“Do you want me to rip you a new one about the mop on your head?  I will, I absolutely will and I won’t regret it,” Okumura growled.  “I wanted to look completely different from how I used to so nobody will get any ideas.”

“Oh, no, they absolutely will, and––no, you know what?  This is just pointless arguing at a time where this isn’t necessary,” Akechi huffed.  “Fine. I’ll applaud your hair decision because at least you had a valid reason and you succeeded in your goal.  Fine. And I understand what’s going on with you. You’re exhausted, you’re depressed, and you don’t want to do anything because it’s all just too much.  But the dust has settled and died down and you’ve had some time to recuperate after the shutdown. Now you need to get up and you need to move around and, quite frankly, shower.  You need to clean up your apartment. Maybe within the next day or two, you can go outside. Take it step by step, but take it!” he cried.

Okumura slowly lifted his head, looking up at Akechi.  “How old are you to give this kind of talk?”

“I’ve recently turned eighteen,” Akechi answered.  “And I’ve experienced burnout from a heavy workload before.”

Okumura shook his head with a low, deep sigh.  “Good god. The worst thing is, I’ve been through this many times before.  It doesn’t get any easier.”

“I understand,” Akechi sat beside him.  “But you’ve survived every single encounter with things like this, correct?”

“That’s true.” Okumura nodded slightly.

“You’ve also lived for… forty-two years, if I’m not mistaken?  While this is definitely horrible, I’m sure something had to be worse than this.”

“I don’t think so, but it’s at least as bad as something.”

“Then that’s all the more reason to push just a little more, if you’ve already been through hell multiple times.”

“Can I want to die for an hour more while I nap and then I’ll push a little more?” Okumura asked.

“No, you’re going to help me clean this place up.  If I’m going to be working with you, you need to be in a better headspace.  If you need to be in a better headspace, you need a cleaner environment,” Akechi declared.  “I’ll start with the garbage while you go shower. Go.”

“Who are you, my mother?” Okumura was the one to wrinkle his nose now.

“If I have to be your mother for a day or two, I will be.  We’re working together, we’ve made a deal, and I’m not letting you back out on it,” Akechi nudged him towards the hallway.

“Something tells me you like being in charge like this, Mr. Detective Prince,” Okumura laughed dryly as he stumbled forward, dipping into his room to throw his blanket on his bed and then grab some clean clothes to change into.

“We’ll deal with profiling each other after you shower!” Akechi stepped past him to get to the garbage can in his room, walking past a couple of empty sake bottles near the edge of Okumura’s futon.

Okumura stepped into the bathroom and grabbed a comb that the hairstylist had given him, remembering the warning about always combing the extensions before washing them.  Once he got all the tangles out, he stepped into the shower, and the cold water jolted him out of the rest of his haze. When it became warm, he begrudgingly let it comfort him as it trickled down.  

Maybe he had needed this.  Damn that brat.

He took time in washing up and getting dressed, walking out of the bathroom to see Akechi working to wash the dirty dishes, gloves daintily put on the kitchen counter.  Silently, he joined in, and the two of them worked together quietly to finish that, wash a few loads of laundry, and finally to straighten up his bedroom.

“I have to commend you; you stayed in one room for your depressive stupor, which made things easier to deal with,” Akechi remarked at the end of the day.  

“I’m a recluse, not a slob,” Okumura joked.  “Thank you, Akechi-kun,” he said, sobering for a moment.  “I’m sorry for dropping off as I did.”

“In all honesty, I was more annoyed than I should have been.  But I appreciate and accept your apology,” Akechi said. “You might want to give your daughter a call sometime soon.  I passed along the news that you’re alright while you were showering. She’s quite cross.”

“That’s going to be fun to deal with,” Okumura made a face.

“You brought it upon yourself, sir,” Akechi shrugged.

“Will you be quiet?  You’re disgustingly smug when you want to be,” Okumura glowered at the young man, who simply gave a made-for-TV smile in return and departed with an equally irritating wave.


	9. huit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru doesn't return Okumura's calls one evening. Upon growing concerned, he takes an unexpected trip with Akechi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go babey!!!!

**viii. –– “matsuoka” residence, jimbocho, september 12th, 2016.  
** _mais toutes les bonnes choses finissent, et le mal entre.  
_ _(recommended mood music –_ [ _part 1_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JtQSKYsS6Nw) _||_ [ _part 2_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjzQXrUXuHk) _)_

 

The call had gone far better than Okumura expected, even with Haru scolding him over the phone for a good hour––he’d been mothered twice in one day, and it was shameful even if he took it with as much grace as he could muster.  Even more shameful was the difficulty in keeping up regular health and house maintenance. But, at the behest of Haru herself, he called her twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening.

By the end of the second week, that turned out to be the lifesaver he needed to keep his head above water; his daughter filled him in on her school experiences and her rooftop garden that she was cultivating with her friend, which he wholeheartedly supported and encouraged her to continue with.  The idea that she wanted to own a small café filled him with a bittersweet melancholy that he eventually accepted and even welcomed. When he called Takakura, the man informed him of the directions he decided to take the company in and the press’ reactions to his death and funeral––both had gone off without a hitch.  He approved of that, too, glad to hear that the charities he’d given his riches to greatly appreciated his donations and were using them effectively, and glad to hear that the public was responding well to Takakura’s succession.

So, of course, when Haru didn’t respond one evening, Okumura first felt annoyed, and then a little concerned.  He’d taught her how to be punctual, and at least send a text letting him know when he could call her and why she was unavailable.  But it’d been almost a half hour since he’d called, and there was nothing. He tried again, and once again, it went to voicemail. The third time was not the charm, either.

Paternal instinct, the kind that hadn’t flared up in years, poked at his gut.  This didn’t feel right at all. Had her phone died? She was notoriously bad with technology; much to his chagrin, he wouldn’t put it past her to forget what a dying phone did.  But no, that still didn’t feel right.

He called Akechi.

“Are you around today?” he asked as soon as the young man picked up.

 _“I believe I could spare a little time.  What’s the matter?”_ Akechi asked.

“Haru isn’t answering her phone,” Okumura said.  “I called her over an hour ago, and she’s never missed me.  At the very least, she’d send me a text message saying that she was going to be busy and would get back to me.  But there’s been nothing.”

 _“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Matsuoka-san,”_ Akechi sighed, and Okumura could tell that he was in public if he was using Okumura’s false name.   _“She’ll get back to you soon.”_

“No, this––this isn’t normal, something about this doesn’t feel _normal_ ,” Okumura insisted.  “I don’t know what it is, but something happened and I don’t like it.”

Akechi took a moment before responding, probably to stare tiredly off into the distance.   _“You’re dead-set on this.”_

“I am.  Please, it’ll only be a moment.”

 _“All I’ll say is that you are very lucky I am in the area.  Give me fifteen minutes,”_ Akechi muttered before hanging up.

Akechi walked in to find Okumura pacing, staring intently at his phone.  “What is she, five? Are you that worried about her?”

“Close the door.  Listen, you and I both know she’s a Phantom Thief!” Okumura whispered intently.  “What if she’s hurt?! I can’t help her if she’s off doing Phantom Thief things and she gets hurt!  I’m her father! I’m supposed to at least help her nurse the wounds if I can’t protect her!”

“Okumura-san, she’s eighteen and she’s been doing this for a while.  Do you not trust her?” Akechi asked, completely exasperated.

“I do!  But I don’t know what being a Phantom Thief entails.  You do,” Okumura said.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Akechi folded his arms.

“Please, just––just check on her.  Just make sure she’s alright,” Okumura implored.  “It would put my mind at ease and if she is just fine, then it won’t take you very long.”

Akechi debated this for a while, and eventually let out a long, exhausted sigh.  “You’re going to kill me one of these days. Fine. But before I do, I’m going to need you to stand far away from me,” he said begrudgingly, motioning for Okumura to back up.

“How far is far enough?”

“To the end of the hallway, at least.  Maybe into your room. I don’t want you getting caught in this.”

“What are you doing?” Okumura asked as he began to slowly back away, continuously glancing down at his phone to check for messages from Haru.  His brows furrowed in confusion as he noticed an app with a red background and a cultish looking eye design. It had no name, and he’d never seen anything like it before.  “Also: have you seen an app with a black eye on a red background before?”

“I’ll explain everything when I come back, just please be quiet right now,” Akechi said brusquely, pulling out his phone.  He cleared his throat. “Hideyoshi Sugimura. Aoyama-Itchome. Property,” he recited clearly, and a chipper, tinny voice responded.

 _“Candidate found!  Beginning navigation,”_ she chirped, clear as day even from forty-five feet away.  Okumura then realized that the sound had come from his phone, as well.

“Wait a minute, the application just opened on its own––and what does ‘candidate found’ mean?!” Okumura asked, bewildered as he looked up, only to find his apartment _literally melting away_ , dissolving into marbled red and black concentric circles, which then gave way to somewhere Okumura didn’t recognize at all.

A cool breeze hit his back as he gaped at the tall white and pastel houses surrounding him, because somehow he’d landed in the middle of the street.  This looked nothing like the brick apartment complexes and townhouses that his neighborhood was made up of. Hell, this looked like a playset!

A sign hung on the corner of the sidewalks, pristinely white with bright blue lettering.   _“Welcome to Sugimura Circle!  Enjoy your stay in the best neighborhood in town!”_ he read aloud to himself, face contorting in bewildered confusion.  “What the hell?” He walked onto the sidewalk and then picked a direction.

He soon realized it was the wrong one when in just two steps in, a giant, doll-like woman wearing a caricature of a housewife’s dress and apron literally burst out from the ground in front of him, smiling wide with blindingly white teeth and hollow eyes.

 **“Now, who are you, handsome?  Are you a new neighbor?”** she cooed, though her voice rumbled within itself in some inhuman way.   **“Well, I’d be glad to give you a welcoming party!  You’ll make for some stunning** **_hors d'oeuvres!_ ** **”**

Okumura barely had time to scream and leap out of the way as her figure morphed into a red-skinned monster with four arms, a long necklace of skulls, a giant tongue, and four sharp swords.  She lunged forward for him, maw open wide––

“Robin Hood!” a familiar voice screamed, and a beam of pure white energy knocked the monster back.  Akechi, wearing the armor of a black knight, rushed forward, standing between Okumura and the monster.  

She quickly picked herself up again.   **“Oh, I see you’ve brought some friends!  You’re really looking to spice up tonight’s barbecue!  Sorry, but you weren't invited!”** she snarled, now moving for Akechi, who seemed to be the bigger threat.

“Loki!” he responded, and an eyesore of a specter leapt out from bright blue flames to meet her halfway, brandishing a red-hot sword.  They clashed for a long while before Loki impaled her, leaving her to wail and fade off into nothingness.

“What the hell did I tell you, you dumb bastard?!” Akechi reprimanded immediately.  “I told you to stay back!”

“I did!  I swear, I did!  What’s going on here?!” Okumura cried.

“God, you can’t be out here.  Here. Follow me, take this gun, pretend you know how to use it, and keep up.” He shoved his silenced pistol into Okumura’s arms, and then grabbed his forearm and ran towards one of the brighter-colored houses on the street.  “You come in here when they’ve sent the fucking calling card and every Shadow in this goddamn Palace is on high alert! What are you doing?!”

“I didn’t want to be here!” Okumura cried, his heart racing with terror even when Akechi slammed the door to a sizeable basement with, luckily, nobody else in it.  The young man sighed heavily, turning back around to face Okumura.

"Alright.  Here’s what’s going on.  This world is an alternate universe that’s right besides our own, called the Metaverse, and it’s accessible through a phone app called the MetaNav, which I have, and apparently, you must have it, too, if you’re here.  When people with corrupted hearts begin to have distorted desires, their hearts make a world of their own in the Metaverse called a Palace. Inside the heart of each Palace is a Treasure, the source of someone’s distorted desires.  If you steal it, the Palace crumbles, and the person has a change of heart. If you kill the Shadow, the representation of all their distorted self-image, the person has a mental shutdown. Does this make sense?”

“Vaguely,” Okumura admitted.  “But continue.”

“Right now, the Phantom Thieves are probably battling the Shadow of Sugimura so that he can give up the Treasure and they can change his heart.  Judging by the looks of things, the man has some… issues involving friendship and owning things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every house here is owned by him, and they look like doll houses––like toys he can use and play with and buy and sell as he pleases.  He just might have seen your daughter like that.”

“I suppose so… what am I supposed to do now, though?” Okumura asked.  “Where’s Haru?”

“Haru’s with the Phantom Thieves.  Can we go now? I have business to attend to,” Akechi asked.

“No.  I want you to take me to her right now.  I won’t believe she’s alright until I see her with my own eyes,” Okumura said, and the fever in his tone left Akechi fuming.

“You’ll die here!  You’ll fucking die trying to be some patriarchal martyr!  We _just went over_ why you can’t die about two weeks ago!” Akechi spluttered.  “Did my words mean absolutely nothing to you?!”

“It!  Doesn’t!  Matter!” Okumura responded, punctuating each word for emphasis.  “Take me to her, goddammit, or I’m going to go try and find her myself!  I’ll find some way to aim better with this fucking thing so I don’t die on my way there!” He brandished the gun.

Akechi screamed, furious, and stormed over to a corner of the basement, slamming some of the bricks with his fist in a pattern until a secret passageway swung open.  “Here! Here’s the passageway to the safe room closest to the treasure! Get in, move your ass, and get out once you see her, and don't waste a minute more of my fucking time!” he barked, and Okumura was nothing but delighted to oblige.

When they exited the tunnel, traversing up stairs and through vents, they appeared in the center of a grand, gorgeously furnished house.

“Where are we now?” Okumura asked.

“This is the area right before wherever the Treasure is.  I’m not sure where to go from here, but it’s not far at all,” Akechi answered.  “I’m going to––wait, no, don’t just run, you idiot!” he chased after Okumura, who took one moment before sprinting to the right.  Akechi tailed him, keeping closer to the walls so he wasn’t seen.

Okumura was thankful for one thing and one thing only about Hideyoshi Sugimura: he was a talker and loved to hear himself speak.  And that meant that he was prone to monologuing, and would be doubly so if he was some kind of cartoon villain––quite frankly, this entire alternate world seemed straight out of a video game, so the comparison worked.  A bitter smile graced Okumura's face as he raced through the plastic-looking halls, following that smarmy, smug voice as it echoed and ricocheted throughout his Palace.

Eventually, he burst into what appeared to be a parlor room, skidding to an ungraceful stop along the carpeted floor.  His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. He saw the seven famed Phantom Thieves bogged down by swarms of strange, tentacle-like appendages with hands at the ends forcing them into the seats they were trapped in, their weapons scattered around them, with Sugimura in the center of the room, gloating.  Okumura nearly threw up upon seeing a girl with brown curls underneath her tricorn hat struggling like a maniac and covered in the most tendrils that began to try and feel her up and down.

That must have been Haru.  That must have been his _daughter_.  It made him sick, and he nearly cringed, but steeled his resolve at the last moment, glaring red-hot daggers up at the Shadow.

 **"Oh?"** Sugimura's Shadow turned upon hearing the noise, turning his attention away from Haru and the other Phantom Thieves for a moment.   **“Now, who are you?  Are you a new face around here?  I’m so glad you could make it to this housewarming party!  I’ve got some new toys that will send this house’s pricing up quite a bit!  I wonder who’s gonna be the lucky buyer?”** he cooed, leaning down to grin wickedly at Haru, who struggled even harder, straining for a battleaxe just an inch or two out of reach.

“Shut your mouth,” Okumura snarled, breath regained from his sprint.  “Shut your mouth and get your filthy hands off of Haru.” His fists clenched; he saw red; he wanted both to kill and to die.

**"And what are you going to do about it, you nobody?  You’ve stepped into my domain, where I can have and keep anything I want.  This is my neighborhood, these are my toys now, and I'm not going to––”**

His words trailed off into a grunting cry as Okumura barreled into him, tackling him to the ground with hands ready to bash the bastard’s skull in.  Emboldened by the cries of surprise from the thieves and even a laughing “Holy shit!” from the one in a skull mask, Okumura put up a good fight with all things considered, and he might have even won in the real world… but here, he faced a supernatural, powerful being, who threw him off with a growl, sending him flying back and onto the ground with a sickening thud.

_Well!  That was stupid._

A voice rang out in Okumura’s head, and he gasped through the taste of iron in his mouth as a horrible, familiar migraine flooded his senses like a dam bursting.  He staggered to his feet, clutching his head as the voice continued, riding on a tidal wave of all his anger, his guilt, his fear.

_Are you done making stupid decisions now?  You see what your actions have caused with your own eyes, what consequences have bloomed forth––how many you have hurt, how many have fallen into jeopardy.  These are things you cannot change. These are things you must accept. Why not cast your past aside with a flourish, leave it all behind in flames?_

Okumura screamed in agony, teetering on the breaking point as he thrashed.  But this voice––this voice of Gilgamesh who his heart knew but his mind did not––was right.  “Never again,” he rasped, opening golden eyes to glower Sugimura's Shadow down with, “Never again will I let myself, or anyone else, become a _monster_!”

_How noble of you.  If that is so, then let us form a contract.  I am thou, thou art I.  
Your old self must be torn asunder, left to crumble with the sands of time! _

A flash of heat flared up his arms in the form of blue flames, and suddenly he couldn’t see.  something like a hood settled upon his face, clinging to him. He tugged, tugged harder, continuing on despite the nearly debilitating pain, until it felt like he’d ripped his own damn skin off with one last scream and everything went white.


End file.
